He smiles, dimples appearing on either side of his mouth. “The only opinion that truly matters is mine. So why don’t you get back out there and do it again—until I think you’re as great as my daughter does.”
“Yes, sir.” I toss him a mock salute, but when I turn my back to him and head toward the water, I’m grinning like a goddamn fool.
Willow Graham might be the most alluring person I’ve ever met. Her ability to take up every crevice inside my mind is maddening, and I’m terrified of it.
Butfuck. She thinks I’m great.
I ride that high for the rest of the morning.
CHAPTER 12
WILLOW
Iwipe sweat off my brow as I step into the late-morning sun and shut the garage door behind me. It’s kind of a nightmare lugging in the inflatable paddleboards from the back of my dad’s truck, but he wasn’t around when I returned home from the harbor. A drop of moisture slips down my spine, and I decide I’ll rinse off in the outdoor shower before heading inside to get ready for work.
A soft, melodic folk song flows through my earbuds as I push through the swinging door and step into the stall my dad built behind the garage. Lined with bamboo paneling, it’s closed off from the outside world but has an open top that allows a view of the sky overhead. A divider separates the changing area from the shower itself, and the entire stall is lined with planted ferns and calatheas, creating a private paradise. I slip out of my wetsuit and throw it over the bamboo wall before rounding the divider.
Until I smack face-first into something that should not be there.
It takes a moment to regain my bearings, my focus settling on the broad, toned, wet chest level with my eyesight. I run my gazeup that chest, pulse pounding in my ears as I lift my head to find Weston blinking down at me.
His eyes are shadowed, jaw set, brows furrowed beneath the dripping hair hanging on his forehead. The eye contact is too intense, so I drop my gaze—and I can’t decide if I’m thankful or disappointed when I notice he’s wearing shorts.
His stomach brushes against my waist, and I realize how close our bodies are. I inhale sharply, jumping back to create enough space for the drumming in my chest—but one of my heels clips my ankle, and I stumble backward.
His arm shoots out, gripping my waist and curling around the small of my back, keeping me steady. I wobble slightly before finding my balance again, my mind reeling at the warmth of his palm, the way his fingers curl into my flesh to grip me—keep me upright.
His hold on me is solid and strong, tender when he squeezes slightly, as if reassuring himself he’s still holding me. I haven’t been touched like this in a long time. I haven’t been touched by a man at all. Not since...
The memory slams into my consciousness. Parker’s hands on my hips, his thighs rubbing against the backs of mine, my hair wrapped around his fist. Everything he was stealing from me in that moment, and the way I hadn’t even been aware. How I’d mistaken it for love and care and pleasure.
A nauseating chill rolls down my spine, and a shiver bites my flesh.
Weston rears back, clearing his throat. “So—Sorry. I thought you might fall.”
“Oh,” I breathe, realizing he must think I’m flinching at his touch. “No. It wasn’t...” I bite my lip, shaking my head. “I’m sorry. I was listening to music and didn’t hear the shower running. I should’ve knocked.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I get it.” He takes another step back, creating more space.
“It’s not you, Wes,” I murmur before bursting out an incredulous laugh. “I’m just traumatized.”
His brows shoot up, eyes flaring with concern. He rubs a hand across his jaw, lips parting like he may say something before they close again, and he shakes his head.
Parker had opinions about my body, ones he rarely kept to himself. He’d comment every time I gained or lost a few pounds, and regardless of which direction the scale went, it was negative. I lost weight in the wrong places, and gained it in the wrong places, too. He’d tell me my breasts were too small, but my ass had too much cellulite, and my torso was too wide. I was too athletic but not lean enough, too round but not curvy enough.
Then he’d follow up every comment withbut I love your body anyway, and that’s all that matters.
Then, that night happened and he told me I was?—
“Me too,” Wes responds, pulling me from my thoughts. “I struggle with touch. I understand.”
My nose begins to sting, emotion building behind my eyes, and I can’t decide if it’s for myself or for him. He’s so tall, strong and guarded. Impenetrable. I couldn’t imagine anyone being able to hurt him now, but I’m suddenly all too aware he was once a vulnerable young boy living inside a nightmare.
“I’m sorry.” I swallow, beginning to walk backward. “I’ll go?—”
“Willow,” he rasps quietly, and I halt. His eyes are pinned to me, unraveling all my composure as they hungrily soak in every inch of my exposed skin. Lips parted, chest heaving, he studies me like a painting he may never see again. “I planned on talking to you after my training session. I was going to ask you to give me space.”
“Oh.”What the hell?How does he expect me to respond to that?
